


At Your Service

by Soupernabturel



Series: Service & Mastery [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1920's, Alternate Universe - Historical, Aristocrat Dean, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hidden Relationship, Historical, Historical Inaccuracies (I tried), Inspired by too much Dowton Abbey, Jealous Castiel, Kissing, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Master & Servant, Mutual Pining, Partial Nudity, Period-Typical Homophobia, Platonic Dean/Charlie, Servant Castiel, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valet Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>1925:</b> After the events of Beck and Call and Upstairs, Downstairs; Castiel and Dean try to live as best they can, when Dean becomes pressured by his family, to find himself a bride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are appreciated ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **1912:** Dean and Cas' first kiss

As a hall boy Castiel’s duties began at five o’clock, when the sun was barely a glow on the horizon, and the rest of the Winchester house was quiet and restful, even some of the servants, the footmen and ladies maids were sound asleep in their rooms.

 

Castiel didn’t mind, he enjoyed the quiet of the mornings, knowing exactly what he needed to do and exactly when to do it by.

 

And it didn’t hurt that thought out the day, Castiel’s duties sometimes drew him all around the house. Though he’d never been permitted in the upstairs, and usually a hall boy’s duties took him no further than from the servant’s hall to the boot room, Castiel treasured the moments when he accompanied Mr Singer or one of the footmen across the grounds.

 

It certainly didn’t hurt that on some rare occasions Castiel was gifted with the sight of the Winchesters from upstairs.

 

The Winchester family when Castiel first arrived a year earlier, had reminded Castiel of the families he saw in books. Immaculate, something out of a fairy tale. They all looked so nice in their suits and gowns, Lady Winchester especially, with golden curls piled high stop of her head that glittered in the sun when she walked outside, hand in hand with his Lordship.

 

Castiel could remember clearly the first time he’d ever spoken to her Ladyship, he had been bringing in the coal for that day and her Ladyship had passed by the shed, dressed beautifully, with each of her hands full, one occupied by the littlest Winchester, Samuel only six years old at the time and the other, holding the hand of her eldest son Master Dean Winchester (who Castiel very privately liked to think of as Dean in his mind), who’d stared at Castiel and pulled his mother to a stop, fixing Castiel in place like a deer in a hunters gaze.

 

Castiel had almost dropped all the coal in his hand when Dean had pointed to him and asked, “Who are you?”

 

Castiel’s cheeks had turned pink and, abruptly and rather poorly, he had bent low in a bow, dropping some of his coal, as he kept his gaze on the ground. “Hello Master Winchester, your Ladyship.”

 

Lady Winchester had smiled sweetly, the only smile Castiel had thought her capable of and said; “Dean, this is one of Singer’s Hall boys…”

 

“Castiel-my lady.” Castiel had answered, aware of his lower class drawl. “It’s an honour.”

 

Her ladyship laughed by not unkindly. “Castiel, welcome to Winchester Abbey” she said and smiled again. Her attention was diverted by the young Master Samuel squirming in her arms as he began to fuss. “Come Dean, I’m sure Castiel has work to be doing.”

 

Dean nodded trailing his mother, but not without several backwards glances in Castiel’s direction.

 

Self-consciously Castiel had wiped at his face, only staining the apples of his cheeks more with the dark coal dust.

 

No wonder Dean had stared at him so. All blue eyed and grubby skinned, with dirt ridden clothes and dishevelled hair. He probably looked a right mess.

 

It wasn’t until Dean has started conversing with him, seeking Castiel out on his own time and engaging with him that Castiel realized that perhaps the heir to the Winchester estate had more interest in him outside of mere concern for his cleanliness.

 

Perhaps Dean Winchester wanted friendship.

 

Castiel had felt elated when Dean had told him as much months later, one time when Castiel had a spare moment and Dean had decided upon being completely useless, talking to Castiel as he cleaned out the stables.

 

Castiel had almost face planted into a particularly fresh pile of horse shit when Dean had admitted that Castiel was his best friend.

 

For months after Castiel had been secretly thrilled every time his own gaze was met by eldest Winchester's and a smile, fixed firmly and decidedly for him alone.

 

And Castiel was the only one too, the only Hall boy to capture Dean’s interest.

 

It made him feel special. It made him feel _wanted_.

 

And now a two years later it made Castiel feel a whole myriad of other things. Things that made him flush and duck his gaze from Dean’s when there was a weighted silence between them. Things that made Castiel’s stomach feel as though it was twisted up in knots every time his thoughts waded to the eldest Winchester.

 

Illegal things.

  
  
Lovely things.

 

Though surely it wasn’t illegal to hope. Men kissing other men (or boys as the case may be) was illegal. But thinking about kissing men, hoping to get the chance to kiss them, especially thinking about kissing your best friend, the future earl to the Winchester estate wasn’t illegal. Castiel was sure one couldn’t police thoughts. It wasn’t illegal to _think_ about Dean, or _look_ at him, or whisper his name as Castiel touched himself alone in his room at night- none of those things were _illegal_.

 

At least as long as nobody found out.

 

So far no one had found out. After two years Castiel had yet to be thrown out of service, or into jail. He was safe, here in the Abbey, amongst the likes of Mr Singer and Mrs Harvelle and the rest of the staff.

 

And everyday Castiel was thankful. Thankful for a roof over his head and a steady wage, and thankful for the gift of Dean's friendship, even if it meant more to him than the young lord.

 

Even if he had to contend himself remaining quietly in love with his best friend.

 

Which was what Castiel was thinking off, just on the very day that every thing changed.

 

*******

 

Castiel was polishing silver spoons at the table in the servant’s hall when he heard the tell-tale sound of hopping/excitable footsteps coming down from upstairs.

 

Standing politely with the remainder of the staff, Castiel ducked his head when Master Dean entered the room.

 

“Afternoon,” Dean greeted them all, his eyes slid over Castiel as they did all the servants, but Castiel knew the other boy well enough to see the glimmer of mischief in his eye.

 

Resitting with the rest of the staff in the hall, Anna, Mr Singer and Mrs Harvelle, Castiel returned to his work with half the attention he had before, his ears and occasional glances focused on the freckle-cheeked boy who approached Mr Singer familiarly.

 

Standing taller than his short, thirteen-year-old stature would allow, Dean approached Mr Singer and said in his most commanding voice. “Bobby, my father wants to see Cas.”

 

Castiel repressed a groan at that particular fib. He continued to lay each spoon gently on the table before him, paying special attention to the way, Mr Singer himself voiced Castiel’s groan for him.

 

“I highly doubt that Master Dean,” Mr Singer murmured not looking up from his newspaper.

 

Castiel at least had the decency to flush when Dean looked to him directly and rolled his eyes at Mr Singer’s dismissal.

 

Anna, a housemaid a year or two older than Castiel, hid her smile behind her teacup. Mrs Harvelle smiled across at the young Master in amusement.

 

“Then _I’d_ like to see Cas,” Dean corrected, which made Castiel blush harder.  “He usually has a free hour or two between downstairs lunch and when you all begin to prepare for upstairs tea right?”

 

Mr Singer looked up from his paper and scrutinized Dean with a steady gaze. “Master Dean, I acknowledge the- _fondness_ you have developed for one of our hall boys” Castiel sunk deeper into his seat when Mr Singer’s eyes cast over him briefly. “But coming down here and taking him from his duties is highly improper-”

 

“Oh let ‘em go Robert.” Mrs Harvelle interrupted, taking mercy on Dean who’s own face had begun to turn red. “They’re young, and you know it’s good for Master Winchester to have someone his own age to play with.”  
  
  
The argument, as it always did, worked with little rebuttal.

 

“But Mrs Harvelle-”  
  
  
"They're young Mr Singer, and Castiel has been working hard. An hour or two won't put us in strife."

 

Castiel almost jumped in his seat when he felt Dean’s hand clamp down on his shoulder, almost drawing him up and out of his seat. “Thank you Ellen- _Mrs_ _Harvelle_ ,” Dean gave Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze, making Castiel want to swat at him out of sight of his superiors. “I promise we’ll be back before tea. Come on Cas-”

 

Like a moth drawn to flame Castiel could do little but follow.

 

“Yes my lord.” He said more for Mr Singer's sake than his own, avoiding the older man's glare on his back, as he hunched his shoulders and followed Dean out of the servants hall, through the servants door (which probably would have angered the older Butler more).

 

It wasn’t until they disappeared out the door that Castiel felt himself even remotely relax.

 

Of course that never lasted long when Dean was concerned. For the other boy grabbed his hand and pulled him further into the grounds. Castiel just grabbed on tight, heart in his throat as he and Dean ran as fast as they could, until Dean’s legs dropped out from under him and he dragged Castiel down into a messy heap behind a hedge in the garden.

 

“What are you doing?” Castiel hissed when Dean pulled him to the ground laughing loud and disorderly, surely drawing attention to them.

 

“Shh!” Dean whispered, hands still linked with Castiel’s. Carefully he eased up on his knees and peaked over the hedge, looking like a squirrel before he dove back down beside Castiel his breathing laboured. “You know if Bobby had his way he’d send either Victor or Gordon to keep an eye on us. We had to lose them.”

 

Castiel ignored the way that his heart stammered at the suggestion of Dean’s words.

 

“We’re going to get in trouble.” he whispered just as quietly.

 

Dean only seemed more elated at the possibility of outright rebellion. “I get you for this hour, one hour’s all I ask. Maybe two.” Dean said with grass green eyes that looked brighter. He started fishing about in his trouser pocket, “here I got something for you, bloody hurt when I sat on it just now-”

 

A few seconds later he smiled, triumphant, and pulled a small jar from his pants. Castiel’s eyes widened as Dean extended that jam out to him.

 

“Master Dean-”

 

“It’s your favourite right?” Dean interrupted, shifting to lie on his side, “Strawberry.”

 

Indeed it was. Right after honey (a real treat downstairs) strawberry jam was Castiel’s favourite.

 

Castiel stared down at the jaw between them, almost speechless. “Y-yes.”

 

“Knew it here,” Dean undid the top and instantly Castiel was treated to the tender sweet treat of freshly made jam. “You can have the first dip,” Dean said, extending the jar to him.

 

Castiel only realised what Dean meant at the same time he realised that there was no spoon to eat from.

 

“Oh I couldn’t possibly-”

 

“I got it for you,” Dean repeated, Castiel felt as though he shouldn’t ask where. “Please, Cas.”

 

Unable to deny his best friend anything Castiel yielded.

 

In the cover of the hedge, they stretched out against the grass. And with some prompting Castiel dug his fingers into the jar greedily until all decorum left and he and Dean feasted on their treat, passing the jar back and forth between them. They buried their fingers into the jar until it was empty, licking the sticky ruby red jam from their fingers as their shadows shifted along the grass with the ebbing sun.

 

“You ever worked on a farm Cas?” Dean asked some indeterminate amount of time later, long after ants had started to scout the jar sitting on the grass empty, between them. He followed the small black creatures with his thumb careful not to squish them.

 

Looking away Castiel rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky instead, feeling more content than he had in weeks. “A farm? No my lord.”

 

He saw Dean shift out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I think I’d like it, working the fields, living somewhere away from this, maybe having cows and sheep and a dog-“

 

“And bees, you could keep bees.” Castiel added, smiling at the thought.

 

“I could.” Dean rolled over next to him, their shoulders touched from the lack of space between them. “You could keep em with me if you like.”

 

Castiel’s heart gave a painful thump, as it always did when the other boy said such things. “Oh I couldn’t do that.”

 

Dean frowned prettily, Castiel had the feeling that no matter how much Dean aged, he’d always do everything prettily. “Why?”

 

“I’m in service my lord,” Castiel explained, licking his dry lips. “The most I could hope for would to one day be a butler, or his lordships Valet-”

 

“A butler like Bobby?” Dean wrinkled his nose and shifted the jar from between them. He watched for a moment as the ants scurried in confusion. “But he’s _old_ , you’re not old enough to be a stuffy _butler_.”

 

“Not at this age no, but when I am older,” affectionately, Castiel dug his elbow into Dean’s ribs. “Don’t be obtuse.”

 

Dean smiled, wriggling away from Castiel elbow as he sat up, twisting around to face Castiel. There was a split second decision between his eyes and then in the next moment before Castiel could judge it, Dean pounced.  He threw himself at Castiel and wrestled him against the ground.

 

It was a fairly even fight, though Castiel was older, Dean was larger, and yet Castiel- from years of hard labour was stronger. They wrestled with each other, neither seriously trying to pin the other down, though Dean did, toward the end, give it his best shot.

 

Much to Castiel’s amusement it didn’t take much to pin Dean to the grass, his knees on the other boys arms keeping them by his sides.

 

Dean struggled for a few moments before he gave in and collapsed back onto the grass, glaring up at Castiel.

 

“Alright, alright I yield.” he said.

 

With a flash of satisfaction (and perhaps something hotter) Castiel rolled off of the other boy and straightened his sleeves out, keenly aware of his sudden dishevelment.

 

Dean didn’t even bother to sort himself out, as Castiel sat up fixing himself, Dean lay down with his hands arched back behind his head, one knee raised as he watched him.

 

“Don’t ever change Cas.” He said, which had Castiel fumbling with his shirt collar.

 

“I shan’t.” he said and meant it, not looking at the other boy.

 

“You better not.” Castiel could hear the smile in Dean’s voice. “Won’t have anyone else to share all my secrets with.”

 

Castiel pulled the legs of his trousers down to straightening the hems. “Secrets?”

 

“I can have secrets,” Dean smiled gently and reached out to remove some grass from Castiel’s hair, his hand cupping the back of Castiel’s neck as he did so. “Would you-would you like to hear one?”

 

Though Dean’s touch had been feather light and barely lasted a moment Castiel felt as though he’d been struck by lightning, every one of his nerves tingling. “One what?”

 

Dean bumped Castiel gently with his shoulder. “A secret you twit.”

 

Castiel blushed again and helplessly leaned into the touch for a second. “If you’d like.”

 

“Suppose,” Dean licked his lip and leaned right back, an action that had Castiel’s fingers twitching with the desire to touch. “Suppose I think you’re nice to look at, you know, in the way that girls do?”

 

If Castiel had been drinking he’d have the liquid dribbling down his chin, if he’d been talking his next words would have faded out into a hushed whine. As it was, Castiel had been breathing (though he doubted he was going to be for much longer) because surely Dean didn’t mean, Dean _couldn’t_ mean-

 

Castiel was snapped out of his thoughts by Dean’s warm still slightly sticky hand resting atop of his.

 

Well, certainly it wasn’t illegal to be sweet on a boy who (despite all sense and logic) was interested right back.

 

It wasn’t illegal to _hope_.

 

Castiel could feel the colour rising in his cheeks. He looked down at their joined hands (warm and sticky) until his blush faded. “Girls think I’m nice to look at?” he asked quietly, in lieu of anything else to say.

 

Dean laughed, openly, loudly, beautiful, and lifted Castiel’s hand into his own, curling their jam licked fingers together. “Cas,” he said and squeezed him, eyes so wide and beautiful looked into Castiel’s own. “You ever had a sweetheart before?”

 

Dean, infinitely more confident and more desirable than Castiel himself, probably had had a hundred.

 

“N-no m’lord.” Castiel hated the stutter in his voice and tried swallow it away.

 

“Dean,” Dean corrected him and moved in perceptually closer to Castiel’s side, until there was no space at all between them, “please call me Dean.”

 

There was something remarkably improper, remarkably intimate about the request.

 

“Oh I can’t do _that_!” Castiel said thinking of how Mr Singer would die if he’d head such a idea.

 

“You can,” Dean said and rubbed the back of Castiel’s knuckles with his thumb “if you’re my sweetheart.”

 

The word sweetheart was like air in Castiel’s lungs, filling him up from the inside, making his chest puff out with pride.  He squeezed Dean’s hand tightly, which the other boy seemed to take as agreement.

 

“If you want to of course.” Dean said, suddenly shy as he ducked his head. "Like I said I'm sure there's plenty of girls who'd wanna kiss you Cas."

 

Castiel felt as though there were no words left in the entire English language to summarise how much he wanted _Dean_ to want to kiss him.

 

So really he did the only thing he could think to do.

 

He shot forward, jerking Dean’s hand up toward his chest as he smacked his lips against Dean’s with boyish enthusiasm.

 

Needless to say the action quite hurt, as nose hit nose and Dean swore in pain, holding onto his forehead which Castiel had smacked with his own.

 

Castiel released Dean’s hand from his hold and felt as though he should be halfway to fleeing across the house grounds in mortification. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry oh Dean- my lord I’m-”

 

“It’s fine.” Dean grunted, eyes squinted as he rubbed his head. Castiel felt absolutely mortified, redder than he’d ever been before, sure that he’d ruined everything. Which only made it that more remarkable when Dean blinked away his discomfort and pressed his hand to Castiel’s shoulder stilling him.

 

Very slowly, too slowly for Castiel to believe, Dean leaned in closer and brushed his lips chastely against Castiel’s.

 

This time there was no nose cracking, no pain whatsoever, just Dean’s cupid bow lips pressed against Castiel’s own.

 

Dean eased back from Castiel slowly, taking a breath. Their eyes met for a moment- a quiet moment in which Castiel felt breathless, before he felt himself reach out to the young lord and rest his hands on Dean’s waist.

 

Again Dean leant in close, arms around Castiel's neck, his breath gushing over Castiel’s lips. This time Castiel leaned in for the kiss too.

 

They kissed.  Warm and gentle. Soft and slow.

 

And when they eventually parted Castiel felt as though the entire world had tilted on it’s axis.

 

He licked his lips, a gesture mimicked by Dean, and the two of them just sat there, staring at each other, hands still resting on each other, Castiel’s still on Dean’s waist, Dean’s draped over Castiel’s shoulders.

 

It took a moment for Castiel to think of what to say. “That was very nice.” he admitted and licked his lips for god measure, tasting residue jam there, from Dean's mouth or his own he wasn't sure.

 

“It was very nice,” Dean agreed, smiling affectionately, not quite unlike his mother. “I’ll take that as a yes then? You'll be mine?”

 

Castiel just smiled and pulled Dean in for another kiss.

 

As the hour grew later, Dean pulled Castiel to his feet and kept hold of his hand as they walked back toward the abbey. They didn’t really talk to one another, but Dean held Castiel’s hand the entire way, even when they entered within eyesight from the house. It was strange Castiel found, the boy walking beside him was the same boy as ever (still Castiel’s superior but it was nice to forget for a time especially while they touched) yet now he was touching Castiel and that made Castiel feel overwhelmed, his throat closing up around the words he wanted to say.

 

When they came to a stop outside the servants quarters Castiel (reluctantly) released Dean’s hand and sent a wary glance to the closed door, the other side of which he could hear the dinner preparations already beginning.

 

“I hope I’m not late.” He said, fearing the scolding he could receive for Mr Singer.

 

“You’ll be fine.” Dean assured him, brushing their shoulders together. “If Bobby complains, you can just blame me.”

 

Castiel shook his head but was touched by the sentiment. “I wouldn’t do that.” He said severely. He'd never put Dean at risk to save his own skin. He'd never allow for his sweetheart to face the brunt of his own mistakes. Dean was precious to Castiel now, more so than before. He had to prove worthy and protect him as best he could.

 

Castiel's words just made Dean’s smile widen.

 

“I know, you’re very sweet” Dean, glanced around a bit and seemed as though he was about to lean in for another kiss. But quelled by Castiel’s sudden glare, Dean relented and instead grabbed and pulled him into a hug, which Castiel reciprocated with relief. “Will I see you tomorrow Cas?” he asked.

 

Castiel didn’t even try to fight the smile off his face. “If you like my lord.”

 

“Dean,” Dean pressed and cast him a wicked smile. “Can’t keep calling me my lord when we’re intimate and all.”

 

 Dean's name though simple, felt precious to Castiel, something he wanted to keep close to his chest, and take out at night and marvel.

 

“I have to go back to my duties… _Dean_.” Castiel swallowed heavily and smiled despite himself. Dean’s name sounding just as sugary on his tongue as the jam they’d shared.

 

They parted with another hug and a locked long gaze that suggested a kiss, though being so close to others both boys lost their nerve. Dean refused to leave until Castiel disappeared through the servants entrance, and even then Castiel could see him, watching the closed door for a moment before he walked away, hands in his trouser pockets, a bright, white toothed smile on his face that made Castiel’s heart thump.

 

In the sparse moment of privacy their just outside the servant’s hall, Castiel leant against the closed door and smiled so fully his own cheeks hurt. An elated bubble of laughter escaped his throat, and gave away his position to Victor who passed him with a sharp bark to get to work and an even sharper scrutinising glare, that had Castiel checking his lips for residue jam.

 

All too soon Castiel was swept back up into the reality of servant’s life, with dinner for the upstairs well on its way, and an unexpected guest in his Lordship Campbell meant downstairs was all in a rush, with Mr Singer barking orders loud enough to push all thoughts of sweet Jam and an even sweeter Dean out of Castiel’s mind.

 

It was only in the easiness afterwards, late into the evening that Castiel got a moment to himself, or at least a moment to make his way down to the servant’s hall to eat with the other hall boys.

 

“Castiel,” Mrs Harvelle spoke, catching Castiel on his way to the servant’s hall, “a moment if you will.”

 

Feeling instantly chastised, Castiel lowered his gaze submissively and stepped into Mrs Harvelle’s parlour.

 

He was eased somewhat when Mrs Harvelle offered him a kind smile and made now move to offer him a chair (which would suggest a longer, possibly more taxing conversation which would be instantly more worrying).

 

She sat at her own desk, leaving Castiel standing just inside the door, arm like steel rods down his sides, his spine just as- if not more- straight. “I just wanted to pull you aside and let you know that it has not gone unnoticed,” she began and Castiel instantly froze, “how hard you are working, Castiel.”

 

The air escaped Castiel’s lungs in a rush, an action that did not escape Mrs Harvelle’s notice, (nor apparent amusement judging by her smile). “Mr Singer and I have noticed your efforts to contribute downstairs and I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that you have a bright future here Castiel if you continue in this way.”

 

Touched, Castiel tried to keep his smile to himself, but knew it was stretching the lower half of his face. “Thank you Mrs Harvelle, I will Mrs Harvelle.”

 

“Very good Castiel,” Mrs Harvelle said, and nodded towards the door in kind dismissal, “now, go along, Anna’s left some tea left in the servant’s hall for you.”

 

Castiel gave a little half bow before he could stop himself. “Yes Mrs Harvelle. Thank you.”

 

He left the room with a spring in his step that he was unaccustomed to.

 

Kissed by Dean Winchester and noticed by Mrs Harvelle all in one day, Castiel, smiling so big that it had others noticing him, walked on air for the rest of the evening.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are appreciated!!


	2. Chapter 2

Dean Winchester, heir to the Winchester estate and eldest son to his Lordship Jonathan Winchester, walked arm in arm with the Lady Lisa Braeden; a pretty slip of a thing with big brown cow eyes and flushed cheeks.

 

As it was, the two had managed to escape the rest of the dinner party taking the longer way to the drawing room through the library, where the rest of the party (including both their parents, an earl from London, Dean’s younger brother Sam and several other guest Dean had already forgotten the names of) resided.

 

Still, Dean’s chest felt weighted, heavy from the expectant looks cast to him earlier that evening by all but his brother (bless the floppy haired bastard). The way in which conversation had (once again) circled the state of Dean’s bachelor hood because apparently at twenty-six it was considered _odd_ in the ‘proper circles’ for the heir of such an estate to still be unwed.

 

Which of course, was why Lady Lisa was one women in a long string of ladies, brought to the Abbey in the hopes of enticing Dean into marriage.

 

A ploy which Dean felt was both laughable and infinitely frustrating.

 

Touching him with a soft glove, Lady Lisa brought them to a pause in the privacy of the library. Dean stopped, waiting obediently and turned to her with his most charming smile.

 

Lisa of course, was the first Lady in recent times, to see through the facade. “Don't mistake me for speaking out of turn Mr Winchester,” she said, voice soft like cotton. Whispered from years of knowing what would and would not please her fathers ear. “But I can’t help but feel as though you are less than pleased by this arrangement.”

 

Well, she was an astute one Dean had to give her that. “You already know that it is required that I marry, with the intention of fathering an heir, before I can inherit my father’s estate.” Dean said plainly, “I don’t suppose in such a situation there is much to be happy with.”

 

“You speak very boldly.” 

 

A smile, unwitting, kicked up Dean’s lips. “A trait despite his best efforts, my father has been unable to stamp out.”

 

“You may speak boldly to me of course,” Lady Lisa said “it is quite possible that between the company here, I am the only one who can truly sympathise with your plight.”

 

Ah, so Lady Lisa was adverse to the marriage as well. Good to know.

 

“It can be considered rude of me not to wish to marry someone I only just met,” Dean swallowed as Lisa looked away, down at her hand, which she drew away from his arm. Quickly, Dean assured not to offend her. “Of course, don't take that as a reflection of your character nor loveliness, Lady Lisa Braeden, as I'm fairly sure you would be unhappy with a bachelor like me.”

 

“I appreciate the warning Mr Winchester.” Lady Lisa said, though her expression, like all good and proper ladies should be, was unreadable. “But as far as I was concerned I was only here for tea.”

 

Dean smiled at the Ladies decorum.  “You don't need to be coy,” he said quietly, as they continued into the drawing room, “we both know our fathers intend for us to wed.”

 

“I’m sure if my father had his way we’d be expecting by early June.” said Lisa mildly. Before changing tack completely, giving Dean a small smile. “I can assume your reluctance can be explained by a secret sweetheart and not a reflection upon my own person?” she teased.

 

But it was anything but a joke to Dean. Anything but a tease.

 

Words could not describe how the blood from Dean’s face flooded into his toes.

 

So of course, the most appropriate action to such a claim was aggression.

 

Pulling his arm from Lady Lisa Braeden’s Dean took a step back, placing distance between them. “Did it ever cross anyone’s mind that I do not want to be married? At least not to a perfect stranger.”

 

Lady Lisa balked and the flush of her cheeks deepened. “M-Mr Winchester, I did not mean to imply anything salacious-”

 

Of course she wasn’t. She couldn’t know. Nobody knew, nobody could _ever_ know.

 

Taking a step back, Dean scrubbed his palm over his face. “I’m sorry, Lady Lisa. Your company this evening has been a compliment, thank you.” With his blood rushing in his ears Dean turned from her and quite briskly left the room and approached the marble staircase. He caught the eye of the under butler, Mr Laffite  and said; “Benny tell Cas that I'll be heading up and let our guests know. I have developed a headache and wouldn't make good company tonight.”

 

With arms folded behind his back, the elder man gave Dean a courteous nod as he passed up the stairs. “Right away m’lord.”

 

Dean thanked the man quietly and headed for the second landing. His and Sam’s rooms in the bachelor’s quarters were on the far side of the hall, darkened now and empty. Revelling in the quiet for the first time all evening, Dean slipped into his room without so much as a backwards glance, and waited.

 

 

***

 

Dean was close to spitting when Castiel finally arrived.

 

“That’s four women in less than a week!” he said, the only thing stopping him from pacing the length of the room, was his Valet’s hands upon his shoulders, prompting for him to allow his jacket to fall.

 

Diligently, and with the practised ease of a man with years of experience and familiarity under his belt, Castiel undressed Dean efficiently. “I admit the ferocity at which his lordship is pressing the issue of your betrothal is impressive.” He said.

 

Though no normal man would be able to see it, Dean knew Castiel was just as on edge, even more so than he was. But there was a hint of hilarity to the whole situation, which Castiel seemed to be focusing in on much more than anything else at the moment.

 

“Oh shove it Castiel and quit your smirking,” Dean shrugged his shoulders, allowing Castiel to tug his jacket down his arms, and begin working on his cufflinks. “If I didn’t know better I would take it that you’re amused by my suffering.”

 

“Hardly suffering.” Castiel spoke, head down as he worked. His fingers deft as they undid one link- and then the next. “To have the eye of several ladies, any man would feel lucky.”

 

Despite himself Dean’s lips pursed into a frown.

 

“Would you feel lucky Cas?” he asked, “to have the fancy of a couple of ladies? A girl on your arm.” _Instead of me?_

 

There was the slightest pause to Castiel’s ministrations, as though he actually needed a moment to consider the notion. His fingers, paused on Dean’s wrist, a small action that had Dean straightening his shoulders and pressing lightly into the touch.

 

Castiel noticed but didn’t pull away. Instead he stoked the knob of Dean’s wrist once, just lightly, before drawing away entirely.

 

Honey, thick, warm and oozing settled in Dean’s chest.

 

“You know I have no time for something so frivolous,” Castiel said, turning away to lay out Dean’s night clothes, as Dean himself began on the buttons of his shirt, “being in service takes up far too much time already.”

 

Dean smirked at his reflection, and Castiel's back (strong, broad, dressed in black livery) in the mirror. “Am I really that difficult to care for Cas?” he asked.

 

The air felt thick with a sudden expectancy that had Dean turning, shirtless now, to watch Castiel over his shoulder, noticing how the Valet’s ears reddened and his shoulders flexed.

 

“No.” Castiel said softly, turning to face Dean, holding his arms out for the young lord’s shirt, “Not quite.”

 

Dean took in every inch of Castiel Novak and smiled slightly. He wore an ink black livery that matched his dark hair. His eyes, a deep ocean blue were made even deeper by the colour coupled with hi lightly tanned skin. His lips were full and pink yet chapped and very close to being one of Dean’s favourite features. Dean swallowed as Castiel looked over at him.

 

“Do you agree with my father? That I should...embrace the inevitable and marry the next trollop that walks through our door?”

 

Castiel’s lips quirked, uncharacteristic of him unless he was really amused, which only made Dean smile wider. “As your valet I’m not sure how I should answer that.”

 

“And as my friend, lover and companion, I would like your opinion.” Dean pressed.

 

 Swallowing, Castiel stepped forward, took from Dean his shirt and then started on his pants, crouching into a familiar position before Dean, kneeling. His head was level with Dean’s waist and even after all this years the sight lit the wick of Dean’s arousal making him bite his lower lip.

 

It didn’t help matters that Castiel proceeded to undo Dean’s slacks preciously slow. “It is improper for a young gentleman to not be betrothed at your age, especially such a man as eligible as you.” Castiel murmured, before looking up, Adonis incarnate with those devil blue eyes. “But I hardly believe you should marry a woman of…questionable purity.”

 

“Castiel you always say the sweetest things.” Dean said and ruffled the young (older) Valet’s hair. Castiel swatted at Dean in a very improper way and made a sound like an affronted bird when Dean laughed and drew the other man up by his hands.

 

“But do you think that I should marry? Just to get this business all over.” Dean asked, still holding Castiel hands, warm, calloused unlike his own, just one of the many marks of difference between them. There was barely a breath of space between them, the each of them only just able to stare into the eyes of the other without their vision blurring.

 

Dean watched, entwining their fingers together as Castiel lowered his gaze and murmured. “That doesn’t seem… entirely healthy- my lord.”

 

Ah, the 'my lord'.  Castiel only brought that out when he was desperately uncomfortable.

 

“Cas, your lord is my father,” Dean retold him, quite possibly (with no exaggeration) for the thousandth time. Then he said far quieter, especially in the brittle night air. “Please, don’t do this.”

 

Castiel raised one brow. Wordlessly he knelt back down and prompted Dean to step out of his pants with a simple tap to the knee.

 

He was a rotten bastard at times, really.

 

Dean sighed, standing in his underpants and nothing else, as Castiel turned and began folding his clothes.

 

“Every time I try to discuss this with you, you act as though you have no thoughts on the matter. As though there’s nothing between us.”

 

“I though we agreed that for the most part, inside of this estate, Master Dean, there _is_ nothing between us.”

 

The words hurt, they always did. Just another chip in the armour over Dean’s heart.

 

Still small victories. _Master Dean_ was better than _my lord_.

 

“I don’t want to talk about marriage and heir’s and politics,” Dean said instead, knowing when it was better not to push his friend. “I’d rather hear of the goings on downstairs.”

 

Dean could tell Castiel had relaxed by the set of his shoulders. “Gossip is a sin Master Dean, and does nothing good for a person of humility and propriety.”

 

He also felt a little better, for the way Castiel’s eyes lingered on his naked form, as though he hadn’t seen Dean in various states of undress for the last eight years.

 

As though they hadn’t made love just last night or countless times before.

 

Honestly Castiel's propriety was both equally endearing and frustrating to Dean.

 

It was the world they lived in, Dean supposed, that made Castiel the way he was and the way he himself was. A world that outlawed sex and love between men, limited people’s freedoms by a strict and arbitrary class system. Even if intimacies between men were acceptable, intimacies between the upper and lower class still wouldn’t be.

 

Dean wasn’t sure what would shock his parents more; that he’d grown to love a man, or someone in service.

 

Shaken from his thoughts by Castiel offering Dean his nightclothes, Dean rolled his eyes and cast his lover a wry smile. “When have you ever known me to be either of those things?”

 

When Castiel didn’t laugh, or offer a smile of his own, Dean frowned, reaching up to press a palm to Castiel’s cheek. “Cas-”

 

Castiel stepped back, making Dean’s hand drop between them. “My lord If that is all?”

 

Even though Castiel had stepped back they still stood only inches apart.

 

At Castiel’s words Dean swallowed.

 

“Don’t be like this.” He said, hating the petulance that edged into his tone.

 

“Like what My lord?”

 

“This,” Dean gestured between them, then shortened the gap. He could feel Castiel’s breath on his lips as he leant in, then softly, slowly, pressed a kiss to the Valets lips. It was only when Dean parted his lips that Castiel responded sweetly, holding Dean’s face in his hands. The kiss was slow, tentative, and Castiel gave a shaky exhale when Dean pressed their chests together.

 

“You act as though we’ve never done this here before.” Dean whispered pulling back. "As though you crave it less than I."

 

For the most part it was true, Castiel abided by the restrictions placed on him by Bobby Singer with the utmost respect and grace. Yet sometimes he slipped, sometimes his passions or Dean's own (usually Dean's) got the better of them and they fell into the embrace of lovers than Master and Servant, Castiel was always a little cold the day after, a little more on edge. But really over the years he had been getting better, more relaxed.

  
  
Last night had been one such time Castiel had felt welcome in Dean's bed.

  
  
Dean had intended for tonight to be another, stressed from the pressure of women being thrust upon him unprovoked. His time with Castiel was like his own secret rebellion to such an idea.

 

But Castiel was tense, more _Novak_ than _Cas_ at least in the way Dean was able to understand it. The vast disparity between the Castiel he knew and the Castiel everyone else saw.

 

Castiel’s eyelashes painted his cheeks darkly, already high in flush. “Last time was a mistake.” He said, though only pressed into Dean’s hold as he encircled a hand around his waist.

 

“Oh it was was it?” Dean asked, rubbing at the small of Castiel’s back. “What about the time before that?”

 

Something like a soft groan escaped Castiel’s throat, which Dean felt very tempted to press an open mouthed kiss against. “My lord-”

 

“And the time before that?” Dean prompted, nibbling and licking as much skin as he could, damn Cas’ valet’s tie…

 

“Master Win-”

 

Sneaking his hands down, Dean palmed at Castiel behind through his slack, before he dragged the other man forward and rubbed their hips together, grinding softly in slow delicious circles. “And the time before that?”

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel gasped and gripped at Dean’s own hips, brining them together in shuddering friction, “please.”

 

“There he is, my love,” Dean smirked and pressed a kiss to the bolt of Castiel’s jaw. “I knew you had it in you Cas.”

 

He let Castiel’s hands travel affectionately along his arms and back, simply relishing in the feeling of being in his lovers arms, here in the privacy of their own little world. He kissed Castiel’s shoulder through his jacket, and cast the blue eyed man a look so demure that Castiel couldn’t help but grin against his will.

 

“You are infuriating.” Castiel intoned, just the tips of his fingers slid under the waistband of Dean’s underwear in a teasing fashion.

 

“And you-” Dean kissed, Castiel’s neck, then his cheek, then his lips. “You are beautiful.How can I look at any of the women thrown at me when I have you to warm my bed at night?”

 

“Dean-”

 

“You look sharp in your livery,” Dean told him as he touched him, “though if past experience is anything to count upon, you will look better naked.”

 

Castiel did outright groan at that, a pitiful mockery of the sounds Dean knew the Valet could make in the throes of passion. “Dean,” he insisted breathily, “I can’t.”

 

With heavy breath Dean ghosted his lips past Castiel’s ear and held them stubbornly together. “A lesser man would order you.”

 

Castiel smiled, the first real smile he’d bore all evening. It was soft and crinkled the corners of his eyes and made Dean’s heart give a furious _thump._ There wasn’t even a flicker of doubt, of fear in Castiel’s eyes as he said confidently; “But you wouldn’t.”

 

“No, I wouldn’t. Ever.” Dean felt like glowing at Castiel’s faith in him, in his friend utter belief and devotion. "But I can't deny a part of me would like to."

 

Castiel laughed then, deeply, openly, and squeezed Dean's arm. "I'll consider it a reflection upon your good character that you have never and will never order me to bed you'"

 

"Of course you will," Dean teased, playing along to a game between them as old as time, "I am nothing if not a gentlemen after all." 

 

The two shared a smile in silence, each looking into the others eyes, softening in a type of affection that could never be seen by others.

 

But still, despite the touching scene, Castiel pulled away eventually. “I’m expected downstairs.” he said, slipping back into his servants mask.

 

Dean wondered if the entire charade exhausted his paramour as much as it did him.

 

“The servants don’t eat dinner till late,” Dean caught his hand but didn’t hold or stop Castiel, who stopped of his own volition, looking back and across at Dean through his lashes. “And I know for a fact Bobby is far too consumed with the upcoming ball at Mrs Liverson’s to notice your absence for a few hours.”

 

Castiel’s voice was low in warning. “Dean.”

 

“Come to bed Cas,” Dean said, letting the other man go, giving him a choice. “Just for a few minutes, nothing scandalous I promise. You look exhausted and in need of care. You're working too hard.”

 

Castiel sighed, though his eyes were smiling. “You test my patience Dean Winchester.”

 

“I like to keep you on your toes,” Dean smirked, then sobered suddenly. “Please, I just,” he paused, trying to find the right words to articulate the want in his chest. “I want to hold you.”

 

At Dean’s admission Castiel’s resolve started to crumble.

 

“This is hardly what I would call the norm for a servant master relationship.” he said crawling into bed with Dean, who praised the valet with happy sounds, and soft, playful caresses through his clothes.

 

“You Cas, are far from normal.” Dean smiled and littered small kisses up and down Castiel’s neck. They did not lay there for too long, the picture would have looked strange to anyone having to come upon it. Dean barely clothed, curled around Castiel who lay fully dressed, polished shoes and all a top of the bed, holding the younger lord in his arms like a child.

 

They lay in perfect silence, in perfect peace, only for just a moment.

 

“If you truly must leave I will not keep you.” Dean told Castiel honestly, no matter what was between them or what he felt, he would never do anything to outwardly jeopardise Castiel's service within his home. They'd had enough drama on that front to last a lifetime.

 

Gratitude passed over Castiel’s features, covering up his reluctance to leave which was growing more and more prominent on his pretty face the more moments passed. “Dean, I wish-”

 

 _I wish I could lay with you tonight. That_ _I could stay every night._

 

_I wish I was allowed to love you. Be with you..._

 

_I wish I wish I wish…_

 

“I wish I could stay,” Castiel admitted quietly. He ran a hand through Dean’s hair and thumbed at his lower lip. Dean took Castiel's thumb between his lips and lavished it with soft attention, soft enough to make Castiel's eyelids flutter closed. Castiel's skin on Dean's pallet was salty and warm, roughened from years of hard work in service. His skin was harder, tougher than Dean's and tasted of more than soap and the everyday.  Gently, Castiel withdrew his thumb from Dean's lips and sat up upon the bed beside him. “But I really am needed downstairs, as you said Mr Singer has a lot to organise for Lady Liverson’s ball-”

 

Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrist making the older man pause.

 

“You can come in a little earlier tomorrow morning?” he asked and pressed soft kisses against Castiel’s knuckles. “We could lie together for a bit, before I'm to be thrown back into the fray of unmarried nieces and daughters?”

 

Castiel’s gaze softened as he rose from the bed. “You sound as though you're being sent back to the front.” He pulled his hand back, but not before Dean could place a lingering kiss to the back of it, and to the palm. Spelling his love and devotion with stolen touches. "But yes if you wish it I'll be here early."

 

Castiel straightened, then straightened himself out, looking down at Dean sprawled a top of the bed with dark, love filled eyes. “Goodnight Mr Winchester,” he bid, always the utmost professional as he left the room, chin high shoulders back, though he saved one last, private smile for Dean, before slipping out the door.

 

“Goodnight Cas.”  Dean said to the empty room, smiling despite himself.

 

_I do love you so you blue eyed bastard,  you have no idea._

 


	3. Chapter 3

The weather was warm and sunny with early spring. The gardens surrounding the Winchester Abbey were lush, filled with an assortment of roses (Lady Winchester's prized roses three years running) and cleverly crafted topirary that soon fed off into open field and nearby forest the further and further from the house one walked.

 

Arm in arm, Dean Winchester courted Miss Bradbury such a distance from the main estate. Miss Bradbury was a tiny thing really in comparison to Dean's bulkier frame, and she was everything and absolutely nothing like Dean had expected her being like on her arrival to the estate a week earlier. She was humorous and outspoken in a way that made Dean (and others) want to listen without looking down upon her for it- but still she could be meek and lovely in the kind of way that Dean found refreshing for the old Abbey, and in particular for his father, the Earl of Winchester.

 

Needless to say Dean very much enjoyed spending time with the red haired woman. Which was why they were walking now, just the two of them around the Abbey's grounds, the air between them to any onlookers would seem easy and carefree, maybe even ripe with the beginnings of young love-

 

Though in reality it was anything but.

 

“So that Valet, Castiel,” said Miss Bradbury apropos of nothing. “He’s terribly dreamy isn’t he?”

 

Equally abashed and startled Dean choked on his next inward breath. A terribly incriminating reaction, but Dean knew Miss Bradbury was too smart to play coy, to bring up Castiel with no prompting- not unless she wanted something, from the Valet or Dean himself. If she knew something-

 

With a ferociousness that surprised even him, Dean grabbed Miss Bradbury's arms and dragged her under the nearest tree cover, out of the way of prying eyes.

 

“What have you heard?” he demanded, only releasing Miss Bradbury's hand when she tugged her arm free of him, looking less scandalised by his sudden behaviour then he thought she should.

 

“Don’t get your britches in a twist Dean, I have a keen eye for such things.” Miss Bradbury tapped the end of her nose and smiled- her expression completely opposite to what it should have been if she were threatening Dean- threatening  _Castiel_.

 

Nobody who threatened Castiel lasted very long at the Winchester estate.

 

It took all of Dean's willpower not to swipe at her. Her usual kindness and joviality only felt false now.

 

Dean felt as though he'd swallowed either something hot or cold too quickly. “Miss Bradbury-”

 

“Charlie,"  Miss Bradbury- _Charlie_ amended reaching for Dean's hand as she patted him softly. "If we’re to be married I believe we should at least call each other by our Christian names.”

 

“I-I...”

 

“Can I be frank with you Dean?” she asked, casting her gaze around as though to make sure the two of them were alone.

 

Dean baulked. “Yes but, what has this got to do with Ca-”

 

“You and I are of a similar sort.” said Charlie meaningfully, “People of our- _inclinations_  must stick together, look after one another.”

 

Dean felt as though the ground had fallen out form under him. “You mean-”

 

“I have a sweetheart back in Brighteon, my lover.” Charlie's voice had softened some, the weight of her affection or the weight of her secret being the cause, Dean could not rightly tell. “Her name is Glinda. Glinda Birdstrum.”

 

That was the moment- the light of the wick- where Dean truly understood.

 

Charlie was bloody Lavender. Lavender for  _women_.

 

He'd never heard of such a thing. And he couldn't deny the thought was... _intriguing_.

 

All the blood rushed to his brain and he felt his face flush. “You- well.” Dean swallowed, a smile growing behind his teeth. “This- this changes things.”

 

In fact this changed  _everything._

 

For a moment Dean let himself to think of it, how absurd it would be, how delightfully, wonderfully, perfectly absurd it would be to have Charlie as his wife in the daylight, but keep Castiel as his love, his soul mate by his side in the night. While Charlie had her own woman, her own lover that she could call home.

 

Dean had never thought such a thing were possible. For two sinners- four even to find one another and have the chance to live perfectly happy and safe together. The thought of it all filled Dean with a childlike jubilance.

 

He grinned like a fool and felt as though his heart could swell up and burst out of his chest and right into Charlie's arms.

 

“I can assume I am correct about you and your Valet then?” Charlie asked.

 

“Cas, Castiel.” Dean smiled, his heart settling a bit. “Were I able, I would marry him in a heartbeat.”

 

“Well,"  Charlie said with a quirk to her red painted lips. "I suppose I'll just have to make a poor substitute.”

 

 

oOo

 

Dean had hoped that he would have some time to talk to Castiel before the news spread of his and Charlie's engagement.

 

Unfortunately keeping a secret from the staff of Winchester Abbey was like trying to trap steam in your hands.

 

“To the happy couple!” Johnathan Winchester bellowed, smiling jovially, the first time Dean has seen him smile in recent memory.

 

In unison the sentiment was passed around the table. Mary Winchester grinned lovingly towards her eldest son while Sam (knowledgeable of Dean and Castiel's affection for one another) looked confused but more or less happy for the newly weds, even if he was a bit quiet during dinner. Still, Sam raised his glass with everyone else, and toasted the couple to many well wishes and congratulations. Though the young lord kept trying to catch Dean's eye, as though to convey some private message between them.

 

“To the happy couple!” the table chorused. Dean obediently raised his glass in a salute and drank a pull of the wine nervously. He could feel several servants eyes (The footmen, Garth and Andy) upon him, both of them probably knowing the depths of their fellow service man's affection for the young lord.

 

Dean only relaxed albeit somewhat minutely when Charlie cast him a charming smile and squeezed his knee beneath the table.

 

Yes- Dean was making the right decision, he would just have to explain it all to Cas that evening.

 

 

*******

 

Dean- claiming fatigue from the festivities of dinner, retired to his bedroom early, hoping for the opportunity to talk (and explain) to Castiel the truth behind his and Charlie's betrothal.

 

He was sure that with understanding Castiel would be just as eager and happy with the engagement as Dean himself was.

 

Needless to say Dean was quite shocked when, instead of Castiel entering his bedroom to undress him, the first footman Garth entered instead. 

 

“Cas-Oh. Good evening Garth.”

 

“Evening sir.” Garth smiled sweetly, self-consciously tugging on his livery as he stood before Dean, a gangly sort of fellow. “I’m sorry m’lord but Mr Novak has taken ill, I will be valeting for you this evening.”

 

“Ill?” Dean asked concern overriding his suspicion despite his better judgement. “Is he alright?”

 

Stepping forward with arms outstretched Garth (who was again, first footman and most certainly  _not_  a Valet) made a move to undress Dean of his jacket. “Yes m'lord, just a headache's all, Mrs Harvelle has sent him to bed with some hot tea." 

 

Dean was silent, thoughtful. While it wasn't like Cas to be taken ill- the man had an immune system like a thoroughbred stallion- a part of Dean still worried. Even when the two of them had been children; Castiel a hall boy, Dean a much younger lord, it had always been Castiel who was right of mind, his body seemingly unable to fall to any aliment. Castiel's prolonged and future health was something Dean cherished, in all it's forms, even if the Valet was merely pretending in order to shirk his duties and avoid Dean.

 

Cas had courage lying to Mrs Harvelle, Dean had to give him that. That was at least, if the older woman weren't in on it too. Castiel for all his gruffness and stoicism was very loved downstairs, having lived and been in service in the Winchester household for as long as Dean could remember, it wouldn't take much for the servants to band together to support and protect the blue eyed man. After the events years past with a previous housemaid, most of the upper staff knew of Dean and Castiel's connection. As the years went on, more and more staff learnt of, perhaps not Dean's role, but Castiel's inclinations. And thus far the Valet hadn't come to any trouble- the issue more or less damned to absolute silence by Bobby, something known but not spoken of. It wouldn't take much for the downstairs to assume, Castiel was broken hearted by Dean's betrothal, his love seemingly unreturned, so they wanted to save him the shame of it.

 

A sour, ill feeling rolled in Dean's chest.

 

“A congratulations to you m’lord on your engagement.” Garth smiled, folding up Dean's coat tails as Dean focused on buttoning up his night shirt before the mirror. "It's all the talk downstairs. We're all very happy for you." 

 

Though it was nice of Garth to say so Dean knew one servant downstairs wasn't happy with the news.

 

_And why should he be, you love him yet are marrying another! A woman!_

 

Dean managed to smile with some effort. “Thank you Garth.” he said as the footman made to leave the room. “Actually could you, when you go down stairs, tell Bobby I’d like to speak with him in his office?”

 

The slightest frown creased Garth's forehead (more confused than anything) but he nodded anyway. “Mr Singer, of course sir.”

 

Somewhat appeased Dean forced a smiled. “Excellent. Thank you Garth."

 

"Right do m'lord."  Garth bade, leaving Dean to his won devices once more. "Good night." 

 

"Goodnight."

 

 

oOo

 

Butler to the Winchester household since Dean was a baby, Robert (Bobby)  Singer was like a father to Dean, sometimes in more ways than his Lord Winchester was.

 

Which of course was why the elder man saw fit to give Dean what for.

 

“I hope you know you’re being a right git about this.” Bobby said, passing a hand over his face.

 

Sufficiently chastised, Dean wrapped his robe tighter across his body. “I know Bobby.”

 

"Mr Singer," Bobby corrected though knew full well that Dean would never fully adhere to the demands of their separate social classing. "You have a chance to live a normal life, a life that isn't-" 

 

“Revolting?” Dean prompted, not looking at the older man.

 

Bobby fixed him with an expression Dean couldn't quite read. "I was going to say  _sinful_  my lord." 

 

Dean let out a derisive snort and was about to comment, but before he could Mrs Harvelle (refusing to look at Dean) poked her head though the door and addressed Bobby. “Mr Singer, Mr Novak’s here.”

 

Bobby gave a put upon sigh. “Right let 'im in.”

 

Ellen nodded with a lingering (almost accusatory) glance to Dean before the door opened more fully and Castiel appeared, making Dean's heart leap into his throat.

 

The Valet was as beautiful as ever, though his posture was horrid, lax with exhaustion, his eyes were red rimmed and puffy as though he had been crying.

 

Dean felt sick, knowing that his lover was in pain and that he was the cause for it.

 

“You wished to speak with me Mr Sin-” Castiel broke off, catching sight of Dean in the corner of the room. He looked as though he wanted to run, or had been struck in the face- and yet his stood his ground, averting his gaze “Dean-”

 

“That’s _My Lord_  to you _Mr_ _Novak_.” Bobby said with thinly veiled displeasure, as though he felt entirely put out about having helped Dean orchestrate this meeting a few minutes prior.

 

Over the years Dean had come to learn that Bobby- though no longer stating his disapproval of Castiel and Dean's relationship- did prefer to not be associated and or reminded of the fact. It made the older man uncomfortable, though he accepted both Dean and Castiel long ago with begrudging tolerance. Dean respected him for it, and was thankful that Bobby hadn't allowed for their inclinations to colour his opinion of both men, men he had known since the two of them were merely boys, Dean even longer.

 

As though wiping his hands clean of the whole thing, Bobby made his way around Castiel, heading for the door. “Right you have the room to  _talk_  in private, Mr Novak,” he cast the pale faced Valet a stern eye. “Lock up after you and our Lordship are finished, if you will.”

 

"Of course."  Castiel said, voice gravely as though he's been swallowing whiskey, or doing something else more sinful that lead to a roughened, coarse voice. It made Dean's heart leap inappropriately and something hot, keenly associated with Castiel swoop low in his gut.

 

"Right then Goodnight boys." 

 

"Goodnight Mr Singer." 

 

"Night Bobby." 

 

It was easier with Bobby gone, for Dean to notice how stiff the air was between them.

 

Castiel refused to look at him.

 

“Cas-”

 

“Congratulations My lord on your engagement to Mrs Bradbury.” Castiel’s voice was flat emotionless. It made Dean’s chest ache.

 

“So you did hear,” Dean said, leaning against the desk.

 

Looking at the wall, Castiel stood straight, as though standing to attention in sight of an officer. “Of course, it’s the 'talk of the town' downstairs.”

 

Dean winced. “Yes, Garth may have mentioned that,” he stepped forward then boldly, cutting the distance between them. “Cas you know she means nothing-”

 

“That hardly seems the proper way to talk about your future wife My Lord.” Castiel interrupted, his eyes flashed and for the first time he looked Dean in the eye, his glare icy. “The woman you intend to share your bed with.”

 

“Castiel- Cas,” Dean shook his head. “You know it’s not like that.”

 

Anger crossed Castiel’s expression and he grit his teeth, hands clenched down by his sides. “Then explain to me how it is like _My Lord_ because your definitions of  _betrothed_  and  _wife_ , have seemed to escape me.”

 

Dean dismissed the last gap between them and grasped Castiel’s fists in his hands, staring at his face imploringly. “Cas, don’t you see she’s like us?”

 

Castiel drew his hands back with a hissing intake of breath, faltering in his back step. “I  _beg_  your pardon?”

 

Encouraged Dean took back Castiel’s hands and stroked the other man’s knuckles with his thumbs. “She’s lavender, well actually m’not sure what it’s called when it’s a woman-”

 

“Mrs Bradbury is a woman who-who... enjoys the company of other women?” Castiel asked incredulously, a frown developing between his eyebrows.

 

Dean smirked and nodded. “If by _company_ you mean _buggering_ then sure-”

 

“ _Dean_ -”

 

“Cas,” Dean laughed and brought one of Castiel’s hands to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss there. “Cas, can’t you see how perfect this is?”

 

And edge of a frown was returning back to Castiel’s gaze, and Dean wanted nothing more than to chase it away with his words and assurances of love. His next words were breathed against Castiel’s knuckles, as he pressed delicate, soft kisses to Cas’ work hardened skin.

 

“I can marry Charlie, and we can still be together.”

 

He could feel Castiel loosening up, from Dean’s hushed words and soft lips against his skin.

 

“And what about fathering an heir?” Castiel asked quietly.

 

The question, admittedly, did make Dean falter. “Well- I, we haven’t discussed-”

 

Castiel pulled his hand away and crossed the room, placing Bobby’s large ash wood desk between them. Some of the hardness had returned to his shoulder. “I don’t see why you are discussing this with me, I am merely your Valet- your servant after all.”

 

“Cas you know that’s not what you are to me.”

 

“Oh?” Castiel arched an eyebrow and threw Dean a sour glare, “If I were anything more than you would have talked to me, at least warned me of your plans to marry before announcing your engagement to the whole fucking house!”

 

To hear Castiel swear was a novelty, though it didn't quite sound as good when it wasn't because of Dean's lips or tongue or cock.

 

“It was sudden Cas okay?” Dean admitted his mistake, but he had to get Castiel to understand that he hadn’t meant to keep him out of the loop, hadn’t meant to spring this on the other man. “A too good a chance to pass up, I mean what are the chances of me finding someone, who not only knows but rejoices in the way I feel about you?”

 

Castiel had turned his face away, his shoulders hard set even beneath his robe.

 

“Cas,” Dean approached him, then gently, prompted Castiel to face him with a hand to his shoulder. “Cas just close your eyes for me. Pretend we're not here for the moment.”

 

Brows knit, Castiel frowned at him. “Dean-”

 

“Close em.” Dean insisted, and Castiel, of entirely his own volition, obeyed.

 

Dean waited only a moment, one moment of looking at Castiel’s hard lined face, cupping Cas’ cheeks in his palms. He examined the other man with his fingers, thumbing Castiel’s lower lip, enough for his breathing to grow shallow and for him to move imperceptibly closer to Dean, as if pulled into orbit.

 

When Dean couldn’t take it any more (and he suspected Castiel either) Dean brought their lips together and luxuriated in the taste of his beloved. As Castiel kissed him slightly harder with a hint of urgency, Dean wound his arms round Castiel’s waist, and pulled him in closer, savouring every second of the feel of Castiel’s lips against his, warm and needy. Dean understood all too well that Castiel’s love was a luxury, something that he loved, needed and could not imagine his life without. A luxury at Castiel’s complete discretion, one he was able to withhold or provide, causing Dean to fall madly and helplessly into his hold and arms, into  _hope_.

 

Dean couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but  _hope_  when it came to Castiel.

 

And as his hands furled into the folds of Castiel’s robe, and as he pulled them impossibly closer, Dean couldn’t help but hope that there was a future between them, for them. A future greater than a few stolen kisses behind closed doors, concealed by a shroud of darkness and a flurry of tossed clothes. But maybe a future away from Winchester Abbey, for some time, a future away from prying eyes with Charlie and Glinda by their side. Somewhere beyond the people who persecuted in the name of God and nature and Law, any people who might think the four of them ill-suited for love or a life or whatever else was in store.

 

Because no matter what cynicism Castiel gave thought, Dean had hope rapidly beating in his chest.

 

This would be different.

 

 _Castiel_ was different.

 

“Think about it for a moment,” Dean whispered, his breath puffing against Castiel’s lips. “We could have a house, the estate all settled to father’s wishes. We could even move elsewhere, off estate land-”

 

Castiel made a soft breathy sound and tightening his hold on Dean’s hips further.

 

“And then, at night,” Dean continued, “I could curl up next to you, and hold you, touch you.”

 

“And your wife?” Castiel asked, though didn’t pull away this time, which made Dean smile and kiss his cheek.

 

“Charlie's got a girl of her own apparently, we could employ her at the house, a maid or something, I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind having her sweetheart as her ladies maid.”

 

Castiel huffed a laugh and moved his hands up to encircle Dean’s neck, bringing them close together. “Do you make a habit of fetishizing the people in your staff m’lord?”

 

Dean snorted and pinched Castiel’s side making him squawk.

 

“Fetishizing, well that’s a mighty big word for a servant.”

 

Castiel frowned across as Dean but his expression had lost the hardness it had had before. “You are under the impression that I find you amusing.”

 

“I am under the impression that you find me lovable.” Dean spoke and began to place fleeting kisses across the line of Castiel’s neck, dipping into the low collar of his night shirt and robe.

 

Castiel made a low noise again and exposed more of his neck for Dean to touch. It was intoxicating: Dean could taste the sweat and saltiness of Castiel’s sweat, workers sweat all over his skin. He could feel Castiel’s shallow breaths in the small space between them. When he looked up and faced his lover, he could see the darkening of Castiel’s cheeks and the black of his pupils seeping out into the blue, swallowing it up as he stared at Dean.

 

Dean swallowed thickly, feeling almost dizzy. His heart was racing, the tension in the air almost palpable. Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s, breathing in deeply.

 

“I’d marry you if I could Cas.” He admitted quietly, the one thing in all the world, Dean would give everything for. “I’d marry you in a heartbeat.”

 

“I know.” Castiel whispered kissing Dean’s cheek. “I know Dean and I you.”

 

They held each other for some time, relishing in one another’s touch, only when it was time for Dean to sneak back up to his room and Castiel to retire to his quarters, did they part, with soft touches and even softer kisses, promising more but not tonight not here.

 

If all went well with the wedding they would have the rest of their lives to fill their nights with each other.

 

Even now, despite everything they were content with what they had. Together with each other, and apart.

 

Because in spite of everything they had hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subscribe to this account to get a notification when I update this verse again, I have another two instalments planned out to take place (chronologically) after this one!
> 
> As always comments and Kudos keep me writing!

**Author's Note:**

> You can catch me at my Tumblr here: soupernabturel.tumblr.com


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